


Canvas

by ilcuoreardendo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Artist Lucifer, Artist Sam, Artists, Goth Lucifer, High School, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Samifer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 08:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2724947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilcuoreardendo/pseuds/ilcuoreardendo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sam should be home by now, reveling in the euphoria that comes with the end of May and the thought of three months of freedom stretching before him. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Instead, he’s sealed inside the art room, slapping more paint onto his canvas, turning what was once just a bad painting into something that looks like a Monet met a Picasso, got drunk, had lots of sex and made a really ugly baby.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Canvas

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted at my [Tumblr](http://ilcuoreardendo-fic.tumblr.com). The obligatory High School AU.

* * *

Sam should be home by now, reveling in the euphoria that comes with the end of May and the thought of three months of freedom stretching before him. 

Instead, he’s sealed inside the art room, slapping more paint onto his canvas, turning what was once just a bad painting into something that looks like a Monet met a Picasso, got drunk, had lots of sex and made a really ugly baby. 

The assignment, their final, was to portray something that really spoke to them. Standing back from his canvas, Sam isn’t sure that his painting is speaking so much as screaming, the sound muffled by thick swathes of paint. 

He was just about to toss his brush back in the paint for one last go when someone cleared their throat. ”There’s a little bit of bare canvas in the top left corner.”

Lucifer Novak stood behind him, wearing a strange, lilting smile that might grace the features of his namesake. (There was some talk that Lucifer wan't his  _actual_  name. But considering all of his siblings, and a few of his cousins, had an angelic name...and considering some of the stories he’d heard about the boy, Sam would be willing to take that bet.) 

Lucifer moved closer, eyed the picture Sam had clamped to the easel for reference—Dean, standing next to the Impala with its hood open, wiping his hands on a rag—and gave a low whistle. “Nice car. Nice guy.” He winked. “Boyfriend?”

"Brother." Sam, strangely flustered, couldn’t seem to get the word off his tongue fast enough. "What do you want?"

"Aw, now. There’s no need to be like that." Lucifer raised one pierced eyebrow, gave an open mouthed sigh, sliding his tongue against the inside of his lip. Sam caught a flash of silver in the darkness of his mouth. "You’ve been back here for the last hour, thought I’d see what has you so worked up."

"Milner’s final."

"Oh. The "bare your soul on canvas" final. I remember it." A pause. "Your soul’s your brother?"

Sam glared. 

Lucifer held up his hands in mock surrender, dropped them, one sliding into the pocket of his black pants, rattling the silver chains that clattered down one leg. The other skirted the air near the canvas. “if you mix a little yellow and white, dab it here, you’ll get that sunny reflection off the chrome.”

"Did I ask for your help?" 

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, his lips turned up to a wry smirk. “No. But considering you’re here after school, working feverishly on your final project, and considering if you slap any more paint on parts of this canvas, it’s going to come apart....” He shrugged. “Next time, I’ll remember not to bother.”

Lucifer moved back to his own space, littered with paints and a strange assortment of silver wire and random gears, near the front of the room. Sam watched him for a moment, before considering his painting again. 

Dipping yellow and white onto his palette, Sam mixed them, then carefully dabbed the mixture onto the silver bumper of the Impala. The reflected sunlight added a depth to the painting that was missing and although it was still nowhere near the level Sam wanted, it would do. 

Sighing, he rinsed his brushes, gathered up the rags and other refuse in his work space and trashed them. Then, carefully, he moved the canvas to the back room, where well-constructed air vents kept everything cool and dried paintings in record time. 

Backpack on his shoulder, he headed for the front door and stopped, watching Lucifer brush paint on his own canvas, turning the background a velvety burgundy. He was working from the outside in, painting over the fine, faint lines of a drawing that Sam couldn’t make out the details of. 

"Hey," Sam said and it came out low and kind of faint. 

Lucifer only half turned toward him, raised an eyebrow. 

"Thanks...for the tip about the reflection." And that didn’t seem like quite enough, so he continued. "Um. Sorry, I was kind of a dick."

Lucifer nodded twice, slow and deliberate, as if he understood a lot about being a dick. Then he wiped his paint brush, dropped it on the tray next to his easel and looked Sam over, head to toe and back. 

"So," he said, "how are you going to make it up to me, Winchester?" 


End file.
